


Hymns

by dreadwulf



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, First Love, Older Woman/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwulf/pseuds/dreadwulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Lothering before the blight, Bethany Hawke is an apostate in hiding, and Leliana is taking shelter in the Chantry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It seemed like a bad joke, having to sit through a chantry service at least once a month. But Father always said it was more suspicious not to go, and so here she was, shivering in a pew, hoping nobody could scent the faint tang of lyrium that always seemed to cling to her hair and clothes, the tell-tale sign of a mage in hiding. 

Bethany might not have minded the service in itself, but this terror of discovery made it almost unbearable. Shuffling into the Chantry she stepped lightly and kept as unobtrusive as possible, speaking to noone, making no eye contact. Somehow her anxiety worked in her favor. The townsfolk of Lothering thought her a pious and serious young girl, a maiden in contemplation of the Maker’s light. Of all things.

This was why she was always the one to attend the Chant with Mother, and not Carver, who looked murderously angry whenever there was talk of magic, and not Marian, who could not keep her mouth shut for so many minutes consecutively. Marian, who had little sense of danger or propriety and would crack apostate jokes in front of the Revered Mother while the color drained from her siblings’ faces, was forbidden to set foot inside until she learned some restraint.

Because she was the most frightened, she would have to endure it the most. It hardly seemed fair.

Now, in the middle of the service and next to her Mother, it was a little safer to relax. With nervous fingers she pulled her chestnut hair behind her ears and glanced around her. Keeping her head bowed to maintain appearances, her eyes flickered around the Chantry, over her neighbors blank faces. Most times Bethany doubted anyone else was listening any more than she was. People pulled their cloaks around themselves and shifted aimlessly, staring into space. They murmured their responses when required, without enthusiasm. She watched their children swinging their feet below the pews and shoving each other as they grew restless, fidgeting in their seats the way she once had, the way she wished she still could.

Bethany sighed and rubbed her hands together, and glanced up one more time at the balustrade where the sisters sat in their pink robes.

_She’s not there._

Well, Beth can’t see her, anyway. Sometimes the red-headed sister sat in the back row, where she could be difficult to spot. So she kept checking, every minute or so. She might catch just a glimpse of her, when someone shifted, and Bethany did not want to miss it.

The Chanter droned on. The Revered Mother seemed to have chosen all the most endless verses to recite today, the ones with the most pointless repetitions and long variations that never seemed to end. An interminable length of time passed. Eventually Bethany had turned to contemplating her shoes and the scuffs she had failed to buff out of the left one, when the sisters started to file out of their box for the closing hymn and  _there she was_

_The most beautiful woman Bethany had ever seen._

Buried in the back of the line, as predicted, but easy to pick out. The new sister’s scarlet hair stood out in all the dull browns and yellows of the sanctuary like a flame. Straight-backed and  _tiny_ , with a pointed little chin and thin, plucked eyebrows like a Lady at Court. Blue eyes, it looked like, though this was harder to make out. She had never managed to get close enough to the mysterious chanter to tell what color her eyes were, although this was a secret goal.

This was the fourth time she had seen her in three months, and the last time had been 19 days ago. Bethany had counted. 

The sisters arranged themselves at the front of the assembly and began to sing, Bethany arranged her hands folded primly in her lap, so that they would not flutter in obvious excitement. As before, she imagined she could hear the red-haired sister’s voice in particular, out of all the familiar voices of the choir, and she shivered in delight.

She watched her pouted lips shaping around the words, kissing the consonants. Melting into a smile, as the song went on, that made Beth’s toes curl. 

This was no ordinary Sister. Bethany had seen her share of initiates and chanters in her time. She had sat in many chantries over the years, as her family moved from one place to another, so she was somewhat of an expert. Ordinary chantry sisters did not pluck their eyebrows, nor did they walk with such cat-like grace. 

Bethany did not know what she was, this flame-haired beauty, just that she was magnificent. What could such a person possibly be doing in Lothering? Almost certainly she would be gone before long, moved on to someplace important. 

Her hands gripped each other in her lap. If she could only speak to her! Her voice would probably be melodious and light, behind that charming smile. She would be graceful and lovely, all the things that clumsy and dull Bethany was not.

But she could not talk to the Chantry sisters. Drawing such attention to herself was risky in any case, and speaking to avowed mage-hunters would be lunacy. 

So she simply sat still and listened to their song, staring, and when they fell silent and she had not moved her gaze from the red-haired sister’s face she could swear they had locked eyes, just for a moment. Unlikely as it was, sitting at the back of the Chantry, it seemed the mysterious beauty had found her in the crowd and smiled just for her. 

Leaving the Chantry, her mother had worried about her. Her face had flushed, and she had gone so quiet - was she taking ill? Bethany did her best to reassure her mother, but every time she remembered that moment when their eyes had met she could not stop her face from growing hot and her feet from stumbling over the path in distraction.

She had a smile now, to keep secret in her memory. Enough to keep her going until the next time. 


	2. Chapter 2

These Ferelden girls, they made it difficult to stay pious.

All Leliana wanted to do was lay low for awhile. Live peacefully. Stay away from politics and intrigue and the minute to minute machinations of survival that her life in Orlais had been. Exciting as it had been, the Grand Game had finally wrung her out, as it did to everyone in time. She emerged from it exhausted, limping, wounded, and needing a place to heal. 

The Lothering Chantry seemed like a the safest place to pass the time - a quiet, uneventful place, where noone would ask many questions, and she was unlikely to find any trouble to entangle her. The peace and quiet and the chance for solitude, which she once would have spurned disdainfully, were now somehow exactly what she needed. From Marjolane’s betrayal and her flight from Orlais to her newfound faith in the Maker, Leliana had much to contemplate.

But these raven-haired, dark-eyed girls in their warm furs, they were so awfully  _distracting_. 

One of them in particular.

 

Her name, she had discovered, through carefully-placed questions, was Bethany Hawke. She had long dark hair and warm brown eyes, and she came to the Chantry with her mother. She was only a girl, perhaps seventeen, and she had a sweet, kindly face, and was doted on affectionately by all who knew her. 

Leliana would see her sitting at the back of the sanctuary, during the morning Chant, perhaps once a week.  Always with her mother, sometimes with a brother or a sister, also dark-haired beauties. Never with a father. The Hawkes kept to themselves, she was told, but they were fine folk. Leandra would reliably donate to the charity box and dote on all of the children. Sometimes when the young ones grew too rowdy she would gather them up and take them outside to play, so their parents could enjoy the service. 

Leliana would get a better look at them in the receiving line, where the Revered Mother gave her blessing to the townsfolk. The lady of the house was warm and friendly in conversation, if a bit hurried. The siblings were wary and a bit hostile; they whispered to each other and laughed behind their hands right in front of the sisters. Bethany, when addressed, would only smile shyly and drop her eyes to the floor.

She wondered, during the long hours in her cell, what the Hawkes did with themselves on the outskirts of town. Noone seemed to know them well, and they seemed to have no income aside from working their meagre bit of land. The elder son was training for the army, and that would bring a salary. But what did Bethany do, hidden away in their little house?

Ah, foolishness. She was meant to be contemplating the Maker at this time. 

At the very least, she would tell herself, she had learned from Marjolane that the heart was an unreliable organ not to be trusted. Her heart had told her that Marjolane would never hurt her, but that had been laughably untrue.

If something she had been so sure of, sure as the sky was blue, could have been so dreadfully wrong, Leliana could not be certain of anything anymore.

She merely had to adjust to a quieter life, and stop seeking excitement at every turn. Adventuring had left her with only the clothes on her back, unable to return to Orlais for fear of prison or death. Romance had left her with a knife in her back and a chest still heavy with unshed tears. 

Her interest in the girl would remain a passing fancy, nothing more. 

Still, at those times when Leliana would join the Sisters to sing the Chant - something she was not required to do, but did for the pure enjoyment of it, for singing had been the one constant calling of her life - she could not help finding the dark-haired young girl in the crowd, who watched her with luminous eyes and an expression of longing. 

She was so deliciously innocent. Not virginal, necessarily. The innocence of someone who’s never been forced to compromise her idea of who she is, and what is right. She was refreshing that way, this Bethany Hawke. Though she had clearly seen hardships in her young life she retained something new and unspoiled in her. 

Leliana could not remember being this youthful, or this uncorrupted. Though she surely had been once, and not so very long ago. 

* * *

_The bard returns the instrument to her lap as the song dies away._

_"That was lovely," the warden speaks up from across the fire. "You haven’t played that ballad before."_

_Leliana smiles mysteriously. “It is not finished. I like to work with it from time to time.”_

_"You wrote this song?"_

_She nods, putting her instrument away. “Before the Blight. But I am still searching for the right words for it.”_

_Jendra Tabris leans her head to one side, pensively. “So is it a religious song? Or a love song? I’m afraid my Orlesian is not very good.”_

_The bard laughs. “Perhaps it is both. If pretty young girls are not the work of the Maker, I don’t know what is.”_

_The warden chuckles in agreement. “It sounds sad, though. The story of it.”_

_Leliana closes her eyes for just a moment._

_Then it passes, and she is cheerful again. “It is. But I think I will give it a happy ending instead. There are enough sad songs in the world.”_

_Jendra prods her gently. “But what happened to the girl?”_

_"Now now," Leliana chides her, "you cannot rush a song, any more than you can rush a baby being born. It is not finished. Another time, you will hear the rest. When it is complete."_

_And Leliana will say no more on the subject._


End file.
